


A Thief for Christmas

by boredrandom



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredrandom/pseuds/boredrandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After making peace with Andy, Nate makes an impromptu visit to Miranda with the goal of convincing her to do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thief for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This little tale came to mind while reading [Better The Devil You Know](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8406703/1/Better-The-Devil-You-Know) by AceOfHearts444. 
> 
> And thanks go to je4nsly for listening & helping my muse along and victoriaseverus & dastewa for being awesome betas.

Nate was beginning to question his sanity.  Surely, this was all some fucked up dream and he would wake up at any moment to find himself on Doug’s sofa.  
  
After almost a year of trying to hold on to their relationship, Andy and he finally called it quits.  Well, Nate had called it quits.  Andy was, for reasons of her own, willing to keep fighting, keep holding on.  He thought she was under the impression if they stayed in the relationship, the love would return.  Don’t get it twisted, they still loved each other. Nate still wanted to marry Andy, make a family and life together. The problem was that Andy had fallen out of love with him and the love that remained was more like what she felt for Doug, a never ending friendship type of thing.  
  
For a while Nate had held on to the same dream Andy had.  They visited each other every weekend, taking turns between New York and Boston, trying to find what was lost during her tenure at _Runway_.  But nothing they did would bring that back.   Two months ago Nate had figured out why.  
  
Nate wasn’t blind; it was just that he spent almost nine months trying to ignore it.  He tried to ignore the look on Andy’s face every time something about _her_ was brought up.  It was the same look every time something came on the news about _her_ divorce.   (A divorce that was moving along much quieter than anyone had expected. It seemed her ex-husband wasn’t out for blood or even acknowledgement.)  The same look she got when someone mentioned _Starbucks_ or lattes.   The same look, albeit much briefer, whenever Andy walked into an elevator or someone’s phone went off with a similar ring tone.  It was as if, for a moment, Andy had remembered her reason to smile.  
  
Then there was the face she made whenever someone said something about Paris.  It was basically the complete opposite of the other one and if left to her own devices, it lasted much longer.  It started with the down turning of her lips, but as time went on, it got worse.   Her eyebrows would knit ever so slightly, as if she was trying to figure out some complex problem. She would begin to sigh and put her head in her hands.   Then her eyes would become even more dull and wet and sometimes tears would start to fall.   If Nate was around, he'd try to distract her before it got to that point.  The face also accompanied conversations about work, responsibility, and sometimes, and this hurt the worst, conversations about furthering their relationship.  It was slowly breaking his heart to see her like this.  
  
Then there was the look of hope and fear when an older, nicely built lady with a head of white hair was in the same room.  That had only happened once while in Nate’s presence, two months ago, and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  
  
When Andy and he returned to her apartment that night they sat down and had the talk.  Nate couldn’t bring himself to talk about  _her_ , so he talked about the tree and assumed they both understood it’s roots.  After Andy started at the New York Mirror (you wouldn’t believe how many conversations were had about the reference she had given Andy) and Nate moved to Boston, they found it much easier to talk freely and honestly to one another.  It had allowed for them to become more like best friends than they had even been and also allowed the break-up conversation to go smoothly and without animosity.  Andy had cried.  Nate had tried not to. In the end they decided to see each other, if not every weekend, at least once a month.  
  
Last month, Andy had come to Boston and oddly enough it was one of the best visits they had ever had.  There was no more tension, no more expectations, no more awkward or uncomfortable silences.  A weight had been lifted off both their shoulders and they could just be.  Andy laughed more easily and Nate smiled more, but he couldn’t help but notice she still made those faces and her eyes were still devoid of their rightful sparkle.  He had hoped by cutting her loose she would go after the one she really wanted, she would go for her happiness, but she hadn’t.  
  
Yesterday during dinner, on the last day of this visit, he asked Andy about it.  At first he couldn't believe the anger she directed at him.  Then she looked so lost, so unsure as she tried to figure it out.  It was then that he decided if she wouldn’t do anything about it, he would.  He had come for their visit (staying with Doug under the guise of helping repaint his apartment) and as far as Andy knew he was already back in Boston.  Instead, he had taken the day off and was standing in front of a beautifully decorated townhouse with a skim milk, no foam, center of the sun hot latte with two raw sugars.  
  
 _I could be dreaming.  Or maybe I've lost my mind.  Or maybe she isn't even home.  I mean people with this much money went_ ** _on_** _holiday, right?_   It was Monday morning and Christmas was on Wednesday.  
  
Nate assumed that Andy was scared for her job.  She no longer seemed to be scared of _her._ For god's sake,she quit in the middle of Paris Fashion Week (Doug had made sure Nate understood what all that meant).  But Andy still had a healthy dose of fear when it came to _her_ power and influence in the publishing world.  Nate, a Boston chef, figured he had to be somewhat immune to said power.  
  
However, when the front door opened, and he was met with a pair of crystal hard, ocean blue eyes staring at him as if he was a bug unworthy of even being killed, he had to rethink his initial assessment.  
  
Miranda didn’t even speak, she just raised an eyebrow.  
  
He remembered all the comments Andy and Doug had made about Miranda’s hate for small talk, something he learned back when Miranda was something they could talk about and maybe joke about, and he got straight to the point.  
  
“I’m here to talk to you about Andy Sachs.” He could have sworn he saw her face flicker something other than annoyance, but it was so quick he couldn’t name it.  “I brought a peace offering.” He held up the _Starbucks_ coffee tray, with only her drink.  The cup was too damn hot to touch, so they put it in a tray while eyeballing him as if he was crazy. Because who in their right mind would want to drink something they couldn’t even hold.  
  
After her eyes flashed from his to the coffee cup and back, the other eyebrow joined the first, and he realized what a stupid idea coffee had been.  
  
“Oh, right.  I mean, it's the way you like it.  Andy has mumbled this order in her sleep enough times, but you, you don’t know me or what’s in this cup.  Forget the coffee, it was dumb.” _Fuck_ , Nate couldn’t remember the last time he was this nervous.  Did she just almost smirk? Nate told himself he could do this, and for Andy’s sake, he would.  “I just need twenty minutes of your time.” _God, this has to be the dumbest, most suicidal idea I have ever had._ “Please.”  
  
Miranda scanned the street before returning to his eyes, where she looked for a long moment.  She watched him begin to fidget, and then, to his complete and utter amazement, she took the coffee and stepped aside, allowing him entry into her home.

* * *

Miranda’s staff had a number of reasons to believe her the Devil.  Her hearing was just one of them.  She could hear them tip-toeing around her foyer when she was two floors up.  From her desk Miranda could hear every conversation had in the outer office, as well as a good deal of the chatter from the hallway.  It wasn’t supernatural.  It was a honed attention to detail.  
  
That said, Miranda heard uncountable conversations not meant for her ears and she listened to them, using whatever information she could and filing away anything that could be used later.   That was how she learned of and stopped Irv’s plans last year.   However, eighty percent, if not more, of what she heard was useless and immediately forgotten.   Miranda had assumed that _her_ endless chatter with Emily and Nigel would have fallen in the latter category.  
  
When Miranda heard the footsteps on her stoop, she went to the door and watched the young man for several minutes.  Apparently, she had filed away enough of _her_ endless chatter that she knew exactly who he was.  His words confirmed it.  
  
Miranda had no idea what the boy could want, but her curiosity had gotten the best of her.  After reading what she could from his body language and voice, she understood he was not here to pick a fight.  This was not 'the knight in shining armor here to have words with the Dragon Lady.'  No, he was concerned about his girlfriend and thought Miranda could help.  She was willing to listen, but that was all she was willing to commit to.  
  
So, she stood aside and let him enter her home.  He stood in the foyer as nervously as _she_ had been during the interview.  Miranda closed the door and decided to fuck with him.  Her voice was low, bored and annoyed, "I do not have all day, Nate,” she spit his name out.  “Say what you came to say.”  
  
He fought the intrigue of her knowing his name, the uncomfortable tone of her voice, and struggled against the natural instinct to flee.  
  
That would not do.  Miranda sighed.  When she spoke her voice was mostly unchanged but she removed some of the boredom, “shall we have this discussion sitting?” She turned and walked away before he could answer, waiting for the sound of his shoes against the floor.  
  
By the time he made it to the living room Miranda was already seated in her favorite armchair, coffee sipped and forgotten on the end table next to her.  She had no idea how long this conversation was going to be, but why not at least appear to be comfortable.  It had been a year since anyone, outside of her daughters (and even they shied away from doing so), had said _her_ name in Miranda’s presence and she was uneasy with it now.  
  
When he finally walked in, hesitating in the doorway, Miranda waved her hand in the direction of the couch.  By the time he made it to the couch he had both his coat and hat in his hands.  He placed them in his lap as he blindly looked about the room.  He turned in his seat, so he was more or less facing Miranda and mumbled thank you.  
  
Despite what she had said, Miranda did have all day.  Her daughters were with their father for the holiday (although, they talked her into decorating the house before they left) and Irv had decided that Elias-Clarke would be closed, in celebration, for the whole week.  She watched as Nate looked at everything but her.  Countless seconds passed as he tried to gather his thoughts and her patience ran dry.  Miranda cleared her throat, catching his attention.  Just because she had all day did not mean she wanted to waste it.  
  
He stammered.  “R-right.  Um.  So I wanted to talk to you about Andy.”  
  
Miranda couldn’t help herself, “Yes, so you have said.” Her voice filled with icy irritation.  “Twice now.”  
  
“Right.” He ran his fingers through his messy hair.  “She - she’s been very depressed since she quit -”  
  
In that moment Miranda wanted to be indignant, instead she found herself concerned and fighting to keep it off her face.  So she snapped, cutting him off, “And why would I care?”  
  
“Well, I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”  
  
Miranda wanted to growl.  Instead, “Do not mistake my curiosity with concern.”  
  
He flinched out of reflex.  Her voice was low and dangerous, but he was right and he knew it.  So he continued as if that last bit hadn’t happened.  “She regrets what she did but she doesn’t know how to apologize.  Or if she even should.”  
  
Miranda’s lips became paper thin.   
  
“I think she misses you.”  
  
Her eyebrows raised.   
  
“No, I know she misses you.  And not that god awful job.  Just you.” He waited, as if Miranda would speak now.  No, she needed to know where this was going.  “Her eyes are empty.  Her smile isn’t bright anymore.” It was Nate’s turn to sigh.  “But if something, anything, comes up that can be connected to you, in any way, a glitter of it returns.”  
  
“You are her boyfriend, aren’t you?”  Her words dripped with distain.  “If you can’t make her happy maybe you should rethink your role in her life.”  
  
"That's why I'm here.". His voice was resigned. Miranda watched as he gathered his thoughts.  “When she first quit, we thought it’d be alright.  We tried to fix it, you know, make us work again.  But it was too late.  She had changed so much while working for you.  For the longest I hated everything about you.” He noticed Miranda’s body tense, but ignored it.  “That night you took her to that party, it was my birthday.  She memorized every face and name in that book, she was so adamant.  She would not let you down.”  He shook his head, “Not even if that meant disappointing me.  You had become so overwhelming, our relationship couldn’t handle the weight.  And this is going to sound stupid, but, I gave her back the parts of her heart I still had, you know what I mean?  I think I was just so done with all of it.  And the night she told me she was going to Paris, I took mine back as well.  I don’t ever wanna feel that type of pain again.  Then she came back, and I thought everything would be okay.  So, I tried to give her my heart back, but I realized she no longer had her’s to give.  And that hurts even worse.”  
  
He paused, finding Miranda’s eyes, ignoring her purposely blank face, “She gave it to someone else.”  
  
“So you came to my home to accuse me?”  
  
“No.  I came here to ask you a favor.”  
  
Miranda scoffed.  
  
“There may be nothing I can do, but I still want her to be happy.  So I’m asking that you either give her heart back or give her all of yours.  She needs closure.”  
  
Miranda spoke without thinking, a rarity, and cursed herself as the words left her mouth, “Why should I?”  
  
He stood, shrugging before he put on his coat.  “Because it’s Christmas.” He walked across the room.  “Because it’s the right thing to do.” In the doorway he turned, looked her in the eyes and said, “Because it might stop your pain, too.”  
  
Miranda sat there quietly, listening to his footfalls, the soft squeak of the door opening, and the click of it closing.  She thought she heard the mailbox open and close, but seeing it was too early for the postman, she ignored it.  
  
After he left, Miranda spent quite some time thinking about the one who walked away.  Nate believed that Andréa had given her heart to Miranda and he was right.  Miranda could pinpoint each and every time the girl had given her a piece of it; when Andy had finally started trying to do her job correctly and completely, when she cried as Miranda expressed her disappointment, when she allowed Nigel his make-over, when she started anticipating Miranda’s needs, when her eyes raked over Miranda’s body without shame, when she began to take pride in making Miranda’s life easier and not just doing her job, when she leaned in to feed Miranda a name and inhaled as if her life depended on it, when she understood not only could she do anything Miranda asked (even when Miranda doubted) but that she also wanted to.  
  
Paris had been disastrous on some many levels.  Miranda watched as Andréa laid the last of her heart before her, begging for the chance to help, to prove herself in the only way left and Miranda wasn’t ready for it.  Andréa’s timing was awful, Miranda had too many other things to deal with and didn’t know what to do with it.  But, like the old fool she was, she looked the girl dead in the eyes, and accepted the gift while sending her away.  
  
At that time, Miranda’s skills had failed her.  Usually people were so transparent to her.  She could see what they said, what they meant, and find the truth in both as easily as her own reflection.  It was one of the reasons she was so surprised when Andréa walked away.  Miranda didn’t have time to prepare or change the girl’s mind, because _she_ hadn’t decided on a course of action until Miranda was already on the steps.  Then it was too late.  The girl refused to answer the phone, as if she knew Miranda would try and talk her out of it.  
  
After she returned to New York that year, Miranda had spent more time than she was willing to admit analyzing their interactions, their conversations.  Miranda knew that every time, every single time, expect for the night in Paris, it had been a fair trade.  Fair in the sense that Miranda had also lost bits of her heart to the girl.   Andréa was slowly consuming the older woman.  It was completely unfair in the fact that Andréa had taken these bits without Miranda’s knowledge.  It wasn’t until the moment Andréa walked away that Miranda realized just how much of her heart the younger woman held.  
  
And the bits that were left had already begun to hurt.  
  
Nate’s parting words floated across on her mind.  “Because it might stop your pain, too.”  
  
She was angry that he saw through her.  She was angry that the emotion, the pain, the loss, was there in the first place.  She was angry she wasted a year brooding when she could have done something, anything, about it.  She was angry she had no idea what to do now.  
  
Much later, when Miranda finally got up, she checked the mail.  There were a number of Christmas cards, some newspapers and magazines (she had them rerouted from the office to her home during holidays) and a note card.  At first, she thought it was a post card, but it was not mailed and the only thing on it was an address written with sloppy block letters that seemed fitting for the young man.  
  
As Miranda paced her house, trying to plan out her next move, she almost missed Stephen’s over-grown dog, who always trailed behind her like a shadow.  She did not think it strange she missed the man’s pet more than she would ever miss the man.

* * *

Nate was right.  Andy needed closure, or something.  Their Sunday dinner conversation wouldn’t stop floating around her head.  On Monday she could ignore it, forcing it to the side as she focused on work.  Today was a different story.  Today, _The Mirror_ was working with a skeleton staff, giving everyone else Christmas Eve and Christmas day off and Andy was unfortunately not part of the skeleton.  She was sitting on her couch, trying to quiet her mind and drown in an episode of _Law and Order_.  
  
  
However, the same conversation from Sunday's dinner kept running through her mind, tuning out the television.  The man sitting at the table next to them had been talking to the waitress, rather loudly, as if he thought she were an idiot.  “I asked for a medium rare steak.  This,” he picked up the edge of his plate and let it fall to the table, “is over cooked and barely passing as meat.  Maybe you can do better with the fish; bring me the salmon instead.”  
  
Andy couldn’t suppress a smile at this, she had seen _her_ , with an air of poise, verbally fillet more than enough people for cooking her steak wrong.  Interestingly enough, salmon was also _her_ back-up meal.  Andy was tempted to look at the man, with an unconscious need to see the color of his hair, when Nate’s voice interrupted her thoughts.  
  
He was already looking over at the other table, “Wow, what an,” he turned his head towards Andy, “overbearing -”  She must have been making a face because when he met her eyes he sighed.  
  
“When we decided to just be friends, there was something I didn’t tell you.”  
  
Andy knew her jaw was now resting on the table.  Even after everything that happened, she never thought Nate would lie to her.  
  
“I didn’t lie to you,” he was quick to add, “I just didn’t think it was my place to say anything, but you can’t keep doing this.”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Andy wasn’t sure why she felt so defensive, but she did know she wouldn’t like where this was heading.  
  
Nate looked over at the table next to them, “That,” he pointed at her face, “that.” He took a deep breathe, “I’m talking about _Her_.  You try so hard not to talk about _her_ or about Paris.  Why haven't you said _her_ name in over a year?” Andy could see the pain in Nate’s eyes.  
  
“Because ...”  Andy knew there was nothing she could say.  What could she say?  She didn't want to tell Nate that she avoids _her_ because wonderful feelings that accompanied each memory were chased away by unrelenting regret and emptiness.  
  
She looked up at the strangely stern face in front of her.  She'd have to give him something that resembled the truth. “Well, it's easier that way.  If I ignore the fact that sometimes I miss _her_.”  
  
“You miss,” Nate laughed. It was bitter.  “Did you know, that sometimes, in your sleep, you sigh and say _her_ name?”  
  
Andy blushed, she hadn’t known.  “So that’s why we’re just friends now?”  
  
“Part of it, yeah.  I know I can’t make you happy anymore.  I’m not where your heart is, not anymore.  And I can’t bear to see you like this.  I let go because it was the right thing to do, for all of us.”  
  
“All of us?” Andy sighed.  “You actually think something could come from this? I mean, I’m lucky enough _she_ didn’t blacklist me.  If I go to her now with this - I - I don’t even know what this is.”  
  
“Yes, you do.  You’re in love with her.  Just admit it.”  
  
Andy shook her head.  It wasn’t real, not if she didn’t say it.  As long as she ignored it, buried it, excused it away, everything would be all right.  
  
Nate sighed.  And she had never heard such a sound leave him, it was all determination and defeat.  “Andy, you need closure, either way.  You can’t keep this up.  It’s killing you.  Just say it.”  
  
“Why are you so determined to have me say it? To have me do something about it? Is this some type of revenge for falling out of love with you?” Andy couldn’t believe it, not so much what she said, but how she had said it.  It was if all the anger she had been holding onto for the last 13 months came spilling out of her at one time.  
  
Nate waited for her breathing to return to normal before he spoke, looking down at his plate.  “Because I still love you.” He looked up, “Because I still need you to be happy.”  
  
“Yeah, well what if -”  
  
“At least you’ll know and you can move on or do whatever.”  
  
A heavy silence fell upon their table, so thick that their waiter was uneasy about coming to collect their plates.  He was going to ask if they wanted dessert, but once he looked at them, finding their eyes looking everywhere but at each other, he figured the check would probably be the best choice.  
  
Andy was lost in her own thoughts.  She went back to _Runway_ , she remembered the day she made Nigel give her a make-over.  She remembered the looks she received, and the one she got every morning after that.  She remembered the half a nod and piece of a smile that greeted her when the look was complete.  She remembered the confidence that came from knowing her job, from knowing _her_ , from anticipating _her_ needs.  She remembered following behind _her_ , breathing in _her_ perfume, surpassing _her_ expectations.  She remembered the anger she felt towards Stephen, the likes of which she had never known.  She remembered the feeling of being chosen, of being pushed away, of being less than.  She remembered running away.  
  
She acknowledged she was still running.  
  
Minutes passed before Andy spoke again, her voice so small Nate almost missed it, “I am in love with _her_.”  
  
“All of it, Andy, say her name.”  
  
Andy hadn’t spoken _her_ name in over a year, at least not while she was awake.  She took a deep breath, made her voice a bit bigger and looked him in the eyes, “I’m in love with Miranda Priestly.”  She marveled slightly in the feeling of being lighter, of being closer to complete.   
  
The smile he gave her was conflicted, but he nodded in support.  “The first step is admitting there’s a problem.” This time his smile was goofy.  He was going for the joke, but Andy started to panic, fear coming off her in waves, overtaking everything she felt seconds ago.  
  
“Oh my God.  I’m in love with her.  It is awful.  This **is** a problem.  Oh,” she was shaking her head.  
  
The sound of her cellphone brought her back to the present.  By the time she had the phone in her hand the ringing had stopped, but she didn't recognize the number.  No distraction of a last minute assignments.  Andy sighed.  She put the phone back on the coffee table and turned off the television.  Staring at the black screen she let her mind wander again.  
  
Maybe she should have gone home for Christmas.  Her parents had wanted to see her, but they were getting on her nerves.   They were trying to talk her into moving back to Ohio and her dad was still making comments about law school.  Andy didn’t want to deal with any of their nagging.  Instead, she went shopping, finding the best gifts she could (in an attempt to replace her presence) and mailed them off.  
  
Andy had been so inspired during her shopping trip she even bought a few extra gifts.  However, at the time, she thought the intended receivers would never actually receive them.  She placed the wrapped gifts in a trash bag and hid them in the back of her closet, knowing that if Nate found them there would be questions she couldn’t answer.  She had accepted that they would be there indefinitely.  Or at least that was the idea.  But Nate was so insistent that she _do_ something she was now contemplating taking the gifts to their rightful owners.  
  
 _I must be out of my mind,_ she thought as she made her way to her bedroom closet, removing the bag of gifts.  On her way out of the room, she stopped at her dresser and opened her pajama drawer.  In the back, under all the clothes, was a small wooden box that contained a few pictures of Miranda (Andy had clipped them out of various magazines) and a key.  A key she should have returned over a year ago.  She slid it into her pocket.   
  
Andy was pretty sure the key wouldn’t work anymore.  Surely Miranda noticed that Andy never returned it and had her locks changed.  Well, she would be returning it today.  That should count for something, right? _Get a grip, Andy, this is Miranda we are talking about.  Nothing counts expect the end result._  
  
Andy sighed and shrugged, she was going to do it anyway.  

* * *

For the second time in so many days, someone stood outside of a beautifully decorated townhouse wondering if they had lost their mind.  
  
Andy stood at the bottom of the steps and took a deep breath.  She was trying to calm down.  She could do this.  She could move quickly and quietly.  The little voice in her head keep reminding her that there was no such thing as ‘quietly’ where Miranda was concerned, so her only hope was to get in and get out before the woman could make her way from whatever room she was in to the front door.  
  
Miranda should be home and she should be home alone.  Andy had talked to Emily last week and knew that everyone had the week off.  She also knew that since Miranda had the twins last year for Christmas, they were most likely with their father this year.  _But maybe she_ _’_ _s not alone._ Jealously and sadness overtook her for a moment and she wanted to kill her inner voice.  
  
“Anyway, -” then she realized she had spoken out loud and clapped her free hand over her mouth.  _Anyway, if Miranda is in there alone, she_ _’_ _s probably upstairs in her study, or on the first floor sitting room.  I_ _’_ _ll have to be quick._  
  
Andy looked around for somewhere to hide, because if Miranda was on the first floor there was no way she’d make it around the corner before Miranda made it to the front door.  She pegged a neighbor’s open garage as a good hiding place, or she could sneak around the side of Miranda’s townhouse.  
  
Now she just needed to not trip, or drop something.  She took the gifts out of the trash bag, sticking one of them under each arm, and holding the third in her left hand, she shoved the empty bag in her back pocket and readied the key in her right.  
  
She took another deep breath and moved as quickly as she could, taking two steps at a time.  Part of her figured she shouldn’t open the door, but an even louder part told her she needed to try it.  If she left the gifts outside, no matter how close to the door, someone might take them.   
  
She almost shit a brick when the key slid effortless into the door and turned.  She pushed the door open wide enough to slip the gifts in, stacking them as neatly as she could and placing the key on top of it.  She then reached around and turned the lock on the knob before she began to pull it shut.   
  
As she was pulling it closed, she heard Miranda’s voice from the stairs.  “I don’t know who you are or how you got a key to my home, but the police are on their way.”  
  
Andy fought the urge to announce herself and explain, instead she pulled the door shut a little louder than she had intended.  Then she ran, at top speed, all the way to the subway station.  

* * *

Miranda was sitting in her study, at her desk, email and Word open, but she was no longer focused on work.  She had been working for almost four hours when the girls called.  She talked to Caroline and Cassidy for almost an hour before they were called away for lunch and she had not been able to pull her mind back to work.  Instead she was lost in daydreams, random movies playing before her eyes of what her daughter’s lives would look like if Andréa were a part of it.  This was not the first time Miranda indulged in these fantasies.  She allowed these much more often than those the involved only Andréa and herself.  Those daydreams, while pleasing as they played out, left Miranda with an emptiness that was beyond unacceptable.  
  
Now that she was aware that Andréa, to some extent, returned her feelings, she would be compelled to attempt at least some kind of friendship; seeing how a year of no contact had not been enough to erase her own feelings.  However, the more Miranda thought about it, the more she understood that a friendship with the younger woman was completely out of the question.  She did not want a _friendship_ , and even in her mind the word was laced with distain and belittlement.  Miranda wanted an intimacy with Andréa that could only come from a romantic relationship.  
  
The main problem was that Miranda could come up with no feasible excuse to call the girl or to initiate contact with her.  Miranda had been reading _The Mirror_ since Andréa started and her assignments were taking her further and further away from the world of Fashion, and Miranda believed politics was a game best left to the fools.  
  
Andréa did, however, still owe the woman an explanation.  That day in the car, Miranda did something she only did for her daughters, and even then it was a rarity. She attempted to explain herself and her actions.  Andréa could at least do the same.  And if that explanation just so happened to be given at a beautiful restaurant, with candle light and flowers, so be it.  
  
Miranda picked up her house phone and dialed the number Emily had given her one month after Andréa quit.  Emily was unsurprised with the request.  Nigel and she had been more than aware that Miranda missed her former second assistant.  They had been giving her looks every day since she returned from Paris.  Emily couldn’t understand it, not that it made much sense to Miranda either, but Nigel just gave small knowing smiles.  Once Miranda almost fired him, his smug expression rubbing her the wrong way, he had made himself scarce.  
  
The phone rang once before Miranda lost her nerve.  If she wanted an explanation so bad, why hadn’t she called the girl months ago? Her excuse was too thin, even to her ears.  Andréa, as bright as she was, would see right through it.

* * *

Miranda was in the bathroom when she thought she heard someone on the front porch.  She was hoping whoever it was would just go away because she had just sat down.  She wasn’t expecting to hear the front door open, and the paranoia that swept over her was useless because she was not in a place to just get up.  So as she finished her business she counted the very limited number of people who had a key to her home.  Stephen had given all his keys back.  The twins were out of town.  And neither Roy nor the new Emily would even dare to come to, let alone enter, her home without expressed permission.  As she stood up and flushed the toilet, grateful for almost silent sound, one more name popped into her mind.  No, surely _she_ wouldn’t.   
  
Miranda heard the front door as it quietly squeaked, alerting her to the fact it was being closed.  Had the person came into the house? She moved to the stairs and spoke in the harshest, coldest voice she could muster, “I don’t know who you are or how you got a key to my home, but the police are on their way.”  
  
She heard a sharp intake of breath as the door clicked shut loudly.  Phone in hand, 9-1-1 dialed, and finger over the send button, Miranda waited for the sounds that accompanied someone walking on the hard wood floors of the foyer.  But they never came.  Hell, she didn’t even hear the sound of breathing.   
  
Two minutes later she felt a little stupid.  Miranda silently made her way to the other side of hall, next to the stairs in the spot she knew the twin’s hid in when they wanted to mess with her assistants, knowing she could see much better than she could be seen.  There was no one there.  Had the stress of the last two days led to some kind of auditory hallucination?  
  
Who would break into her home and not even come through the front door? Miranda assumed the threat of police had been sufficient enough to frighten whoever it was.  She was still a bit cautious as she made her way downstairs, deciding that immediately after the holiday she would have to get the locks changed, something she should have done a long time ago.  
  
Once she made it to the bottom her eyes were quickly caught by the brightly wrapped packages sitting just inside the door.  _What the -_  
  
She walked up to the packages and stared.  There were three of them, one was wrapped in a mostly baby blue paper (Caroline’s favorite color), one in paper made up mostly of ocean green (Cassidy’s), and the last, smaller one, wrapped in glossy cerulean.  Solely by looking at the packages, Miranda knew they were from Andréa.  However, she no longer had a key, seeing how it was resting on top of the pyramid of packages.   
  
 _She broke into my home to leave Christmas gifts?_ “Of all the ridiculous things.”  
  
Miranda knew she should be furious.  Instead, she found herself grinning.  The girl had not only brought her a gift, which could easily be seen as a request for forgiveness, she had also remembered Caroline and Cassidy.  She even remembered the girls' favorite colors.   
  
Miranda finally moved to retrieve the gifts and remembered the address Nate left in her mailbox. Miranda now had a plan.

* * *

Andréa answered the door and looked at Miranda as if she were a ghost.  Then she looked as if she would pass out at any moment.  But she swallowed it and offered the same smile she did every morning while she was second assistant.  Immediately Miranda understood Nate’s concern, her smile was only a fraction of what it used to be.  Miranda would have to fight to maintain an icy demeanor.  
  
“Hello, Miranda. Please,” her voice was almost hollow, “come in.”  
  
Miranda stepped past her, into the living room, briefly scanning the room around her.  She wanted to get this part over with and if everything went to plan, if Nate was not lying, she’d have company for Christmas dinner.  
  
“What is this?” Miranda held the small cerulean wrapped box in front of herself with three fingers, as if it pained her to touch it.  She forced her voice to be as low as possible, knowing Andréa would hear nothing but anger.  
  
“It’s a Christmas present, Miranda.” Andréa's voice was strangely even.  Miranda could tell Andréa had planned for this conversation.  
  
Miranda smirked to herself, she may have planned, but there’s no way in hell she planned for what was really coming.  “And what makes you think I would want something from you? You couldn’t do the one thing asked of you.  Not to mention the fact that you broke into my home in order to deliver this so called gift.”  
  
“I needed to return your key,” her voice strong as if she had every right to be there, “and I thought you wouldn’t accept the gifts.”  
  
“And in Paris?”  
  
Andréa hung her head, her voice smaller than Miranda had ever heard it.  “You asked of me the one thing I couldn’t do anymore.” She looked up, through her hair and made eye contact, “If you had asked anything, _any_ thing else, I would have been able to do it.  But I couldn’t just be your assistant anymore.” Her eyes were slowly tearing up.  “I’m so sorry, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda wanted to stop the whole ruse right then and there and hug the girl, but she was so close to discovering the truth of Andréa’s departure, she couldn’t stop, not yet.  “Why?”  
  
Andréa took her time, moving to the couch and sitting, pulling her legs up and resting her head on her knees.  “Your staff is so expendable.  Nigel was all the proof I needed of that.  The moment your employees are no longer useful, or you have bigger plans, bigger needs, they are gone.  I can’t bear the idea of being expendable to you, Miranda. So, I had to walk away before it got to that point.”  
  
Miranda moved to the front of the couch, between Andréa and the coffee table, placing the gift on the table behind her.  Andréa tried to hide a flinch at Miranda’s closeness.  “You quit because it was better than me firing you?” Miranda knew she was ‘misunderstanding’ but she wanted to be sure and she hated herself, just a bit, for her insecurities.  At Miranda's question, Andréa's flinch became movement, and closed a small amount of the distant between them. Neither of them acknowledged on it.  
  
“No.” When Andréa looked up, the tears were freely running down her cheeks and Miranda felt her heart stop at the sight.  “I walked away from _you_ because I cannot bear the thought of you sending me away.” Then she looked down again.   
  
Miranda reached up and, with a slightly shaky hand, guided the younger woman's head back up.  A hundred questions floated in her brown eyes as Miranda wiped the tears from Andréa cheek.  “Andréa,” she voice slightly hopeful and completed unguarded, “would you care to join me for dinner tomorrow?”  
  
Andréa turned her face, snuggling against Miranda’s hand, but she looked as if she had fell down the rabbit hole and just blinked at the woman before her.   
  
“I would like to get to know you better.” Andréa was having none of it, her face still completely covered in confusion.   
  
Maybe Miranda needed to explain.  “I have found myself missing your presence.  And if you find it agreeable, maybe we can find reasons to be near each other.” Miranda could see the glimmer of hope, tiny, but there, in the back of Andréa eyes, in the back of her mind.   
  
“Perhaps enjoy a number of dates.  I know of some extremely wonderful restaurants.” Miranda had to bite her cheek to stop the smirk, but she could not hide her playful tone any more than Andréa could hide her pleasure at the idea.  But she was still looking shell shocked.   
  
“I’m sure I could overlook your criminal activities in favor of you accompanying the girls and I at the Zoo or Central Park.  Those are reasonable terms, don’t you think?”  
  
Andréa gave a small nod, understanding finally kicking in with mention of the girls, knowing Miranda shared them with no one.  One question clear in her eyes, and Miranda could tell, without a direct answer the younger woman would not allow herself believe what was happening.   
  
“Yes, Andréa, I wish to spend more time with you.  I care about you and I would like to see where this could go.”  
  
Miranda watched the face in front of her light up, the smile Miranda was accustomed to seeing a mere shadow of what graced Andréa’s features at the moment.  She still had not spoken, but that smile said more than words ever could.   
  
And as Andréa nodded her agreement Miranda felt a matching smile, smaller only in size, grace her own lips.


End file.
